Chain of Command
by White Eyebrow
Summary: Beach Head leads a team of Joes to recover the lost secrets of a classified technology—unless Zartan finds it first. A Joe/Jem crossover. Season 3, Episode 3, Sunbowverse. (Taking a break from Potterverse to update my Joe fics!)
1. Hacker versus Cracker

A/N: Just in case there are any Jem fans out there who happen to read this (or for the curious.) I estimate that this fic takes place 18 months after "A Father Should Be..."

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GI JOE Season 3: episode 3

"Chain of Command"

**Federal Prison Camp - Herlong, California**

The rusty door creaked open, allowing Beach Head and Mainframe entry into the central facility. They entered, and the door closed behind them. The keys from the doorman could be heard jingling from the other side to engage the lock, and the resulting click of the deadbolt echoed in the enclosed hallway. The two soldiers walked side by side in silence toward the guard station at the far end. The sunlight shone through the western side of the corridor. Desert sand frosted the windows, exacerbating the glare from the sunlight and obscuring the view to the world outside. The steel fibers within the shatterproof glass broke up the sun's rays, splashing the floor with polygons of light. The fans that spun overhead only served to circulate the hot air.

Beach Head took short abbreviated breaths as he loosened his collar. The stench from the stale air was so thick he could taste it. Midway, they reached the shadow cast by the northern tower. Shielded from the glare of the late afternoon sun, Beach Head glanced over at his computer operations specialist and saw that he was smiling. "What's with that stupid grin on your face, Mainframe?"

"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing… I just got a kick out of watching that warden snap-to when he got off the phone with the Attorney General."

"Why?"

Mainframe shrugged. "I don't know, Beach; I suppose it's for want of giving the Establishment _the finger_. Don't you get a thrill out of throwing your weight around as a Joe to cut through the bureaucracy?"

"No, I don't," Beach Head scolded. "Spec-Ops units such as ours go around normal channels out of a necessity to maintain secrecy. It's a responsibility not to be taken lightly."

"Lighten up Beach; it's human nature. Ever since we partook of the proverbial forbidden fruit, Man has been compelled to test his boundaries—to push the envelope. It's been the basis for human exploration, inspiration and creativity."

"It's also been the basis for exploitation, despotism and war. And it all starts with one yahoo thinking that the rules don't apply to them."

"I bet you're a blast at parties," Mainframe said with a frown. "Not everything has to be a slippery-slope." A smile revisited his face. "You know, Beach, I think I'm going to make it my personal mission to get you to loosen up once in a while."

"Now you're starting to sound like Stalker."

"Maybe I'll enlist his help, then."

Beach Head rolled his eyes. "Since we're on the subject of stupid ideas, how on earth did you to talk Flint into sending us to this prison like a couple of errand boys?"

"I'm just as surprised as you, to be honest. I just threw it out as a suggestion. I didn't expect Flint to go along with it. He said that my idea was, _thinking outside of the box_."

"It's times like this that I miss Duke. He would never go for this pop psychology hogwash." Beach Head paused and sneezed. "What can you tell me about this guy we're meeting?"

"As far as underground computer crackers go, this guy is as hard-core as they come."

"You think he's up to the job?"

"He's the best I've ever seen."

"I thought _you_ were supposed to be the best?"

"I'm not a cracker." Mainframe scowled at Beach Head's ignorance of the distinction.

_"ACHOO!"_ Beach Head stopped to blow his nose. "Why hasn't someone in Shadow Ops snatched this joker up? He's seems the type that's right up their alley."

"No, this guy is a lone wolf. He's very distrustful of authority. He claims that the government killed his father."

"Great..." The sneezing had gotten worse. Beach Head retrieved the balaclava in his pocket, and he clasped it over his head. He made sure the ski mask fit snugly over his nose and mouth."

Mainframe grimaced. "Everything alright?"

"I think they use ammonia to clean the floors here. It's irritating my sinuses." Beach Head brushed passed him.

By the time they made it to the guard station, Beach Head's coughing had subsided. He temporarily pulled down his mask while he presented his credentials. The lead guard greeted them at the gate and examined their ID's.

The guard cautiously glanced back and forth between the visitors and their photos before finally saying, "The front desk told us to be expecting you." Satisfied, he handed them back their ID cards. "The word on the grapevine is that you boys are Joes?"

"That's right," Mainframe answered.

"I did a tour back in '68 with the 101st airborne."

"A fellow _Chicken Man?_" Mainframe said, shaking the guard's hand. "It's a small world."

"I wonder what kind of strings you guys had to pull in order to talk to this guy outside of visiting hours?"

"The kind of strings that require discretion," Beach Head said with a dismissive tone.

The guard grinned in response. "Hooah."

The soldiers were escorted through the dim, musty cell block. Either side of the corridor was packed with jail cells. Faint glimmers of reflected light sparkled in the distance from the mirrors that the convicts used to peek around their bars.

Beach Head walked single file behind the other two as he struggled to control his coughing. Ignoring the jeers of the incarcerated inmates, he took out a clean handkerchief and dabbed the tears from his eyes. He clasped the cloth tightly around his nose to mask the smell of perspiration and ammonia. He held his breathe for most of the journey until they finally came upon a secured steel door.

"We're almost there," the guard said, unlocking the junction box. "Solitary is in the next cell block."

"_Solitary?" _Beach Head questioned. "He's that bad, huh?"

"No. He just tends to freak out the other prisoners. I think he prefers it. All he does is stare at his wall all day."

They came upon a narrow chamber lined by a single row of cells, only one of which was occupied. The iron gate slid open; Beach Head and Mainframe peered inside. The gaunt prisoner with jet-black hair was seated on a bunk, staring at mathematical equations written on the opposite wall. Strips of toilet paper were arranged on the pillow with strange writings on them.

Beach Head grabbed Mainframe by the arm to stop him from going inside. "No, you wait right here. This won't take long."

"With all due respect, Beach, I have more of a rapport with this guy."

"I think I can handle a computer geek."

Beach Head stepped into the cell and, in drill-instructor fashion, addressed the prisoner as if he were a grunt fresh off the bus:

"Walter Ruebens?" The prisoner did not respond. "I am Master Sergeant Sneeden with G.I. Joe." He paused when he saw that the introduction did not elicit a response. "I am authorized to offer you a deal to reduce your sentence in exchange for your services."

The prisoner continued to mumble under his breathe, seemingly oblivious to the soldier's presence.

Beach Head reached out to grab his shoulder, "Hey, I'm talking at you!"

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" The prisoner jerked away from him violently. "I don't like being touched."

Beach Head stepped back and sighed in frustration. He looked to Mainframe, who was leaning against the bars with his arms crossed—sporting a lopsided grin on his face. Beach Head's eyes narrowed as he gave him the signal to take over.

Mainframe entered the cramped cell. Rather than engage the prisoner, he chose to examine the equations scribbled on the wall that garnered the prisoner's undivided attention. He noticed that in the center was written a group of numbers arranged in a matrix. He picked up the limestone rock that was used as makeshift chalk and wrote a single column of numbers next to the matrix.

"There you go, _Techrat_." Mainframe clapped the dust from his hands. "That should give you the eigenvalues you need."

Techrat nodded as he mulled over some calculations in his head. "Thanks. My linear algebra is rusty."

Mainframe turned his attention to the scraps of paper laid out on the mattress. "What is this, a reverse encryption algorithm?"

Techrat nodded again. "Very good, Mainframe... where's Sparks?"

"He couldn't make it." He replaced the scraps neatly atop the mattress, "You realize, of course, that this code's not going to do you much good without a computer."

"I have access to the one computer they could never take away from me," Techrat said as he tapped his temple with his index finger. "The art of hacking is about thinking, not typing on a keyboard."

"You have the nerve to call yourself a hacker? It doesn't take any exceptional intelligence to write a Trojan."

"Whatever you say, Mainframe." For the first time, Techrat acknowledged Mainframe with his eyes. "By the way, how long was I snooping around your network before you and Sparks caught me?"

"Not long enough to do any real damage. Otherwise, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Techrat snorted. "Oh, how I miss our banter. You and Sparks were the only ones who could keep up."

"If you miss it so much, why not take us up on our offer?"

"I'm not buying what you're selling."

"Techrat," he scoffed with false indignation, "I thought we were friends."

"You're still a pawn of the government."

"I don't think that's a fair characterization. You've been in the central mainframe; you've seen our mission statements. You must know what G.I. Joe is all about."

"And I'm still waiting to hear why this should interest me?"

"There is an unknown system penetrating the DoD's satellite network. We can't discern the nature of the attacks because we suspect that the cracker is tunneling in using _Quantum Encryption_."

Techrat narrowed his eyes. "Quantum Encryption is purely theoretical. The hardware necessary to put it into practical application doesn't even exist."

"C'mon. We both know better than that."

"Why didn't you draft Kaneda? He's the top underground theoretician in computer science."

"Perhaps, but there is another reason why we approached you that we can't elaborate on in here."

"Still, I can't imagine of what use I could be to you on the outside. Quantum Encryption cannot be cracked: It goes against the laws of physics."

Mainframe sighed as he leaned back against the wall. He gave Techrat that same lopsided grin, saying, "I suppose you're right; you should stay here, secure in the knowledge that it can't be done…_ or_, you could help pioneer a new era in cryptography—decades before it becomes mainstream science."

Techrat laughed. Such an obvious use of reverse psychology was an insult to his intelligence. He looked away as he diverted his attention once again to his equations.

Mainframe reached over and took the scraps from his hand. "Is writing pseudo-code on toilet paper the same as the feel of a keyboard under your hands? Is conceptualizing heuristics in a drafty cell the same as inserting your Trojan into a virgin network? To watch it work from the inside, in real-time, as it quietly forces her into unwilling submission; penetrating her defenses until she finally opens up for you."

Techrat clenched his jaw.

"You said hacking is about thinking? You're wrong: hacking is about power. A hacker without a computer is like a surgeon without a scalpel, a painter without a brush—"

"How long?" Techrat interjected impatiently.

Mainframe sat down next to him on the bunk. "If you do good by us, time served plus five years probation. In the meantime, you don't so much as look at a computer outside of this mission."

He scoffed at the terms, saying, "Are you insane?"

"Either that, or you spend the rest of your sentence in here."

"You must really be desperate, Mainframe."

"Not as desperate as you, I'm willing to wager." The soldier got up and left the cell. The bars closed behind him.

Techrat closed his eyes in surrender. "I'll do it."


	2. Starlight Faded

**Ruins of Starlight House**

Jerrica Benton waded through the tall grass until she found the remnants of the foundation. She closed her eyes as she stepped onto the scorched concrete. Although the structure had long since burned to the ground, in her mind's eye, she could see the mahogany doors opening to let her inside. She walked down the foyer to pass the kitchen where her mother had just baked her favorite cookies and left them to cool on the windowsill. She came to a stop in the living room. Everyone was congregated around the TV to watch their favorite prime time show. Her parents were still alive. She still had a crush on the boy next door. There was no _Jem and the Holograms_, only her and her sisters.

_All's right with the world._

She opened her eyes and unclipped one of her ruby earrings. She placed the _Jem Star_ earring, jewel side up, in the center of the slab and then walked back into the grass where her sisters Kimber, Aja, and Shana waited.

Jerrica then tapped the twin earring on her other ear with her index finger and commanded, "Synergy, create a full scale hologram of Starlight House."

A flicker of light emanated from the center of the foundation. It was subtle at first, but with increasing intensity, it began to swirl outward like an illuminated tornado. Light danced around and filled every corner of the slab. It took different shapes and colors before finally coalescing into her childhood home.

Aja took off her sunglasses; her mouth was agape. "Wow. It's just like I remember."

"I can't believe were selling the land," said Kimber.

"All things come to an end," Kimber replied.

"Are you sure about this, Jerrica?" Shana asked.

"Yes," Jerrica answered. "There's nothing left of our childhood except memories."

"That's not true," said Aja.

Jerrica looked at her blue-haired sister with a quizzical expression. "What do you mean?"

Aja held her hand, reciting the pledge they had made as children so many years before, "_We solemnly promise to share everything we have._"

Shana smiled in recognition and held Jerrica's other hand to continue,_ "And to be good and true friends forever and ever._"

Jerrica regarded both of them with a smile and finished by saying, "_And to let nothing interfere with our friendship._"

"Even boys?" Kimber said with a smirk.

Jerrica arched her brow as she eyed the redhead. "_Especially_ boys."

A whistle was then heard by all. They turned to where Raya, the fifth Hologram, was waiting by the curb, seated in the _Rockin' Roadster_. Jerrica touched her earring again.

"Show's over, Synergy."

The image of Starlight House vanished. A few seconds later, a car turned the corner and passed them to continue on its way down the street. Jerrica retrieved her earring and returned to the car, hand in hand with her sisters—The Holograms.

Aja turned the keys in the ignition and revved the engine. "Why am I always the driver?"

"Age before beauty, Aja," Kimber said.

Before Aja could retort, Jerrica changed the subject, "Do we have a replacement for Thomas yet? We have an investor's meeting, and I want to be able to report that we're on track for our new album."

"No. But we're still looking," Kimber replied.

"We could always hire Rio," Shana offered.

Aja frowned. "That's not funny, Shana."

"Who's laughing? This is business. We don't have time to bring someone else up to speed."

Kimber cut in, saying, "Rio's not available."

"How do you know?"

"I've already asked him. He's booked with a gig at Stinger's Sound till the end of next month."

"_Stinger's Sound?" _Raya interjected. "They're our biggest competitor. How can he do that to us?"

Jerrica could see that the discussion was moving in an uncomfortable direction. She decided to end it. "Rio is the most sought after sound engineer in the industry. You can't expect him to keep his schedule clear on our account."

"It's settled then; I'll pull double duty in the sound room," Aja declared.

Kimber grinned. "Good. Maybe now you can tweak the recordings to make your part come out in tune for a change."

"Hey, I only play the notes you put on the page, Red."

Kimber pouted as everyone laughed at Aja's rejoinder—everyone except Jerrica. Kimber noticed how she looked longingly out of the passenger window, as if she were miles away. She put a supportive hand on her sister's shoulder and said, "Don't worry Jerrica, we'll get this album out on time and on budget. We've been in worse scrapes."

Aja glared suspiciously at Jerrica through the rear view mirror. "It's not the record. She's thinking about _him_. You shouldn't've brought up Rio. Now she's gonna be brooding for the rest of the day."

Jerrica met her eyes in the mirror and replied, "Mr. Pachenco and I haven't spoken in over a year. We are ancient history."


	3. Mission: Making Mischief

**San Diego International Airport**

An elderly couple disembarked the off ramp of gate twelve. They made their way slowly down the hall, shuffling as they hunched over their canes. The bustling crowd had to make way and move around them—some more patiently than others. The old man checked the clock on the arrival board; they were early. He decided to sit down on the nearest bench and let the bulk of the crowd pass on. As he settled in his seat, he looked around, making a mental note of the location of all the security cameras in the lobby. The old woman eventually caught up and sat next to him.

She smacked her gums. "This is the last time I fly coach for you, brother. Why couldn't we've taken a company jet from New York?"

"My apologies, sister, but I don't want _the company_ privy to my movements. As a result, I'm funding this operation out of my own pocket."

After picking up their luggage, they both made their way to the customer loading ramp. A valet offered to help them to carry their baggage. The old man, balancing on his cane, smiled appreciatively and handed the suitcase over to the young man. The valet eagerly took the proffered case but stumbled when the weight of it brought it crashing to the ground. Using two hands, he picked it up and limped behind them, struggling to keep up.

The old woman cackled at the display. "When is our brother going to pick us up?"

"He isn't. Our ride is already here."

The old man led them to a limousine parked along the curb. There was a man in a driver's uniform holding up a sign that read "SMITH". The old man walked up to the driver and introduced himself:

"I'm Smith."

The driver regarded them briefly. "Did you track any blue grass on your shoes while in New York?"

The old man replied with the appropriate counter phrase, "The only Bluegrass I know is grown in Kentucky, young man."

Satisfied, the driver nodded and opened the door for them. "Welcome to California, Mr. Smith."

The elderly couple entered the vehicle. After the driver closed the door, they made themselves comfortable. The old woman poured herself a drink from the mini-bar, while the old man took off his gloves. Once the driver loaded their luggage and tipped the valet, they drove off.

The old woman casually took a sip of her drink. "Mind your hand, old man."

The old man looked down at his hand on the armrest. The sunlight shining through the window had turned the skin a dark shade of blue. Cursing, he moved his hand to the shadows and massaged the skin until it returned to its usual pink color.

"Who is _he_?" she whispered, nodding in the driver's direction.

"An acquaintance, from the old days, who owes me a favor."

When they left the main ramp, the old man pushed a button on the armrest. A privacy window rose from the front seat, separating the driver from the passengers. The old woman was about to speak when her brother raised a hand to stop her. She watched him take an electronic device out of his pocket and wave it about the cabin for several seconds. After several beeps, the display on the device turned green. It was then that he gave her the signal that it was safe to talk.

The old woman ripped off her mask and spat out her dentures to reveal the face of someone much younger. "Is all this subterfuge necessary, Zartan?"

"I'm afraid so, Zarana." Zartan removed his prosthetics, although he handled them more carefully than his sister. He put the remains in a special plastic container and poured acid inside before sealing it. He then reached into his briefcase and handed her a dossier. "It's time to brief you on the current situation."

She opened the envelope and removed the contents. The top page was a picture of an old man with grey hair, "Who is this bloke?"

"Harvey Gabor. He's a mega-industrialist with holdings and assets that rival that of the Twins."

"Nice. I take it that you want me to put the sweets on this wanker? How much do you want to bilk him for?"

"I'm not after mere money here with Gabor. And our objective is time-sensitive."

He referred her to the next sheet that had a three-dimensional graph that was plotted with a number system that she did not recognize. She held the page up to the light and turned it upside-down to see if it would make more sense with a different orientation.

"What is this?" She asked.

"It's a wave-form diagram of a harmonic cipher. A Cobra asset at the Pentagon came across this in a DIA memo sent to General Flagg. This plot showed up as a blip in one of NORAD's satellite streams. It was reported as being part of an old code that was grand-fathered into the system; as a result, it was written off as a system malfunction. Fortunately, I intercepted this before Major Bludd scrapped it. The fools didn't realize what they've stumbled upon."

"I must admit that I'm at a loss myself, brother dear"

"It's possible that this particular wave-form is associated with a _Quantum Encryption_ signature. The technology that relied on this particular cipher was part of a black-budget project that was abandoned in the seventies. Gabor Industries was the primary defense contractor on that project"

"The seventies? How could decades old technology benefit us?"

"Let's just say that if I'm right, it could change the face of modern warfare."

"That'll certainly give us leverage against Destro. We won't need him anymore."

"Sister, if this pans out, we won't need _Cobra_ anymore."

"So, why the rush if the Pentagon is sweeping this under the rug?"

"If I spotted this, chances are someone in SOCOM will have also. We'll have a much needed head start only if we can get to Gabor first."

Zarana finished skimming through the profile. "This Gabor fella looks like a powerful man. How are we gonna put the squeeze on him?"

"Through his daughter."

Zartan pulled out the last page and handed it to her. It was a picture of a woman in her mid-twenties with green eyes and hair dyed to match. Zarana studied the picture, and she snorted quietly when she recognized the subject. She began to see why her brother needed her on this mission.


	4. Who did he kiss?

**Starlight Music Headquarters**

Jerrica briskly stepped out of the elevator doors before they finished opening. She entered the antechamber to her office, located on the top floor of the Starlight Music building, and she was greeted by a frenzy of subordinates. She didn't break stride as she handed the quarterlies to her assistant in exchange for her dry cleaning. When she passed the secretary's desk, she picked up her mail and went inside her office.

She threw her dry cleaning across the leather chair and kicked her shoes off. After a quick shower in the executive bath, she put on her newly pressed suit and then thumbed through her mail. She stopped when she came across a letter written in crayon. A smile visited her face when she opened the card. She placed it next to a collage of other pictures on her desk. She made it a point to reserve desk space for her Starlight girls – orphans that she supported through Starlight Foundation. They were her daughters, and she loved all of them. Why else would she lead this double life of a successful CEO/house-marm by day, and an A-list rock star by night? Why else would she sacrifice her love life?

_Love life._

Aja's comment yesterday concerning Rio still bothered her. After all, he was nothing more than a protracted childhood crush. Breaking up with him was the best thing that ever happened to her. It freed her to better manage the Starlight Foundation. The only thing that mattered now was her family, and she was surrounded by love, and loved ones, on a daily basis.

So, why did she feel so lonely?

"I see you went with the red dress."

Jerrica snapped out of her reverie to see Aja standing at the entrance of her office. She went over to the mirror to primp her bangs and replied, "Red means power and confidence."

"It also means seduction." Aja approached and stood next to Jerrica in front of the mirror.

"I don't think the shareholders are interested in my sex appeal."

"I'm a shareholder, and I'd do you," she said, with a smirk.

Jerrica pursed her lips. "That's only because you're a slut."

"No I'm not; sluts give it away for free."

"What are you two standing around for?" Kimber said, barging into the office. "Everyone's waiting downstairs."

"Jerrica is trying to seduce the investors, Kimber."

Kimber walked over and bumped Jerrica aside to make room for herself in the mirror. "Oh? Nobody said anything about this being a fundraiser." She adjusted her necklace. "Don't let them low ball you, sis."

Jerrica sighed. "_Et tu_, Kimber?"

In good spirits, the three of them left the office and went to the meeting hall on the third floor. By the time they got there, the room was already full. When Jerrica entered, a hush fell over the crowd in acknowledgment of the president and CEO of Starlight Music. She took the stage and adjusted her microphone at the podium before addressing the audience:

"Good evening and welcome to the twelfth annual Starlight Music shareholder's meeting!"

Jerrica smiled proudly; the hall was filled with applause. This rush she felt was akin to the accolades she received when she was on stage, performing in sold out concerts, as her alter ego, Jem. The din subsided, and she continued:

"My parents, Emmett and Jacqui Benton, founded this company with the intention of making the world a better place. Fearlessly, they steered you into the eighties to become the premier independent label in the country. As we enter a new decade, with their daughters at the helm, that mission statement remains unchanged."

She was met with another round of applause. As she looked out into the crowd, Jerrica noticed a man enter quietly from the back of the room. He looked tall and lean in his tuxedo and kept his back to her as he walked over to the bar. All she could make of him was his purple hair and his olive skin. Even as the applause subsided, her attention remained focused on the man in the back. A cough from Aja off stage brought her back in the moment. She recentered herself on the podium and resumed her speech.

"This marks an exciting time for the music industry in general and Starlight Music in particular. With the acquisition of Eagle Records and from scouting new talent, we will have expanded the scope of our label to not only pioneer a new era of Rock and Roll, but also to explore the frontiers of Jazz and Hip Hop…"

She didn't remember going through the rest of the presentation. She orated on autopilot, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the man in the back of the room with the purple hair. When she finished, she was numb to the standing ovation from the crowd and walked offstage. Kimber took over and directed everyone to the buffet line in the back.

She kept track of _Purple Hair _out of the corner of her eye while she started to visit with the other shareholders. Splitting her concentration between small talk and keeping a lookout was daunting. Fortunately, Aja came to her rescue and graciously stole her away from the tortuous banter.

"Thanks, Aja."

"You're welcome. Good job, by the way. You were a little shaky at first, but you recovered nicely."

"I was distracted." Jerrica nodded in Purple Hair's direction, at which Aja turned to look. "For heaven's sake, don't stare."

Aja scowled. "What is Rio doing here?"

"This is a stockholder's meeting, and he _is_ a stockholder."

"So what? He's never come to these things in the past—much less to hobknob."

Her face became flushed. "Oh no, he's coming this way… don't look."

"Has he seen you?"

"I don't know. But I don't want to talk to him."

"Sneak out the back. Kimber and I can cover for you."

Jerrica obeyed and walked casually to the nearest exit. When she glanced over her shoulder, she could see Rio working his way toward her through the crowd. She entered the hallway and followed the path to the elevators and pushed the button. The chime of the floor stop sounded when she heard Rio enter the hallway. He called her name, and she cursed the slow moving doors. She knew she wasn't going to make when she heard his footsteps getting closer. In desperation she tapped her earring and whispered, "Showtime, Synergy."

—oOo—

Rio stuck his arm in the doors just before they came to a close. When the doors opened, where he expected to see Jerrica, he instead found himself face to face with Jem, lead singer of The Holograms. He gasped. For one brief moment he thought he saw her surrounded by a halo of light. He rubbed his weary eyes and dismissed the illusion as an artifact of the alcohol that he had been drinking.

The contours of her face were flawless. She wore the same style of dress as Jerrica, but the colors where different, and they served to compliment her pink hair. The hair itself hung as if every strand were put in place by an artist.

"Jem?"

"Rio." Jem nodded in acknowledgement as she stepped out of the car.

"I was looking for Jerrica."

"She had to take off. You must have just missed her."

He took a sip of the scotch that he was nursing, trying desperately not to look like a star struck teenager. "I… didn't expect to see you here."

"I could say the same. So, what brings you by?"

"Starlight Music is privately held. I figured this would be the best place to sell my holdings."

"Oh." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "So that's why you were looking for her?"

"No, that wouldn't've been appropriate. I'm selling to Pitman. I just wanted to break all my ties to this place."

"Do you hate her that much?"

He looked at her with an expression of shock. "Of course not! I just wanted to tell her something: to apologize for how things turned out. But, I guess she doesn't want to have anything more to do with me. Not that I blame her."

She started to fidget, interlacing her fingers as she walked tentatively back toward the meeting room. "You could… tell me; I'll make sure to pass it along."

Rio shrugged. "Sure. I've practiced it so many times in the mirror, someone might as well hear it." He downed the rest of his scotch and took a piece of paper out of his pocket. He stood up straight and cleared his throat. "I was going to start out with a compliment like, _Hello Ms. Benton, you look lovely this evening. Have you done something different with your hair?_"

Jem snorted. "Is that the best you can do?"

"Well, I didn't exactly practice that part. I wanted it to sound genuine."

"I see," she said, shaking her head in amusement.

He laughed nervously. "I didn't expect it to be this awkward."

"You don't have to, Rio—"

"No, I want to." Rio sighed. "Jerrica won't return my calls, and I just... I have to get this off my chest, you know?"

"You want closure." Jem approached. "I'll make Jerrica understand."

Rio continued reading, "Jerrica, I'm sorry for how it all ended. As your boyfriend, it was my job to protect you from pain. However, I ended up being a source of it. If I had only just concentrated on loving you, we might still be together." He stopped reading to gauge her reaction, "How is it so far? Too much?"

She blushed. "It's not bad. What else have you got?"

"When I look into your eyes…"

Rio paused when he happened to look up from the paper, and their eyes met. He walked closer, allowing him to gaze deeply into her. His heart raced. They were connected. He crumpled the paper in his hand and discarded it. The sound of the paper meeting the ground at his feet echoed loudly. "When I look into your eyes, I see the mother of my children. When I look into your eyes, I see the only woman I'll ever be capable of loving. It took me this long to realize as long as I have _you_, I don't need to know everything. The secrets don't matter."

They kissed.

Her hair smelled of roses and honeysuckle, _like Jerrica's_. Her lips were soft and wanting, _like Jerrica's_. He reached under her dress and inserted a finger behind the strap of her panties, feeling her naked skin as he slowly pulled them down. He followed her roundness, resting his finger on the crease where her butt met the back of her thigh. It all felt so familiar, so smooth, and so… _Jerrica._

How was such a thing possible? For two women to be so alike, in spite of the fact that sweet Jerrica would never whisper lustful curses in his ear,_ like Jem_. Timid Jerrica would never reach down and unbuckle his trousers with a room full of people next door, _like Jem_. Prim Jerrica would never invade his mouth, taking in the alcohol on his breathe and gently tugging on his lower lip with her teeth as he pulled away, _like Jem_.

"I love you, Je—"

—oOo—

In a panic, she pushed him off. She did not want him to finish that sentence. She did not want to know _who _he was kissing.

_Oh my God! I've got to get out of here!_

Jem ran back to the meeting room as she fastened her clothes. Rio watched her leave, being too stunned to follow. He looked down to his trousers and buckled his belt.

—oOo—

Aja had since mingled into the crowd, although she kept an eye on the exit after Rio followed Jerrica out. To her surprise, she saw Jem enter the room shortly after. Aja casually broke away from a group having an uninteresting discussion over pork futures, and she made her way to meet her lead singer. She grabbed Jem by the arm and negotiated her into a remote corner before they were noticed.

Aja looked around to make sure they weren't being watched. "What are you doing here, _Jem_?" she said, through a fake smile.

"Rio cornered Jerrica in the hallway, so Jem had to run interference."

"You smell like alcohol. Have you been drinking?"

Jem's eyes widened, and she instinctively covered her mouth with her hand. "No."

"So, what happened?"

"Well, he apologized to Jerrica, by proxy, we kissed, and then I left."

Aja squeezed Jem's arm tighter. "Whoa! What did you say?" She struggled to keep her voice low.

Jem blushed. "I said he apologized."

"No, the part after that."

She smiled weakly. "I left?"

Aja's eyes narrowed. "Before that."

Jem closed her eyes and sighed. "I kissed him."

"You mean you kissed him _goodbye_, right?"

Jem bit her lip. "Not exactly."

"Have you lost your mind, girl?"

By this time, people started to notice Jem's entrance and began to approach, forcing them to cut their conversation short.

"I don't want to get into this now, Aja," she said, retreating behind the fans asking for her autograph. "Don't worry; I can handle Rio."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Aja left Jem to her celebrity and proceeded through the back exit. Once out into the hallway, she found Rio standing by the elevators.

"Rio." She greeted him with arms akimbo.

"Hello, Aja," he replied absentmindedly.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"It's an investor's meeting, is it not? I came here to sell my holdings—"

She held up her index finger, cutting him off. Again, she asked, "What. Do you think. You are doing?"

Rio sighed as he looked down at his feet. "I don't know, Aja." He pushed the button on the control panel and waited patiently.

"I do_ NOT _want to go through this drama again, just because Jem doesn't have the good sense to tell you to fuck off!"

"I only came here to apologize to Jerrica."

"With Jem's lipstick smeared all over your face?"

"I guess I deserved that." He said. "Look, Aja, I know you hate me—"

"I don't hate you, Rio—"

"But, I wasn't the one who lied, and I wasn't the one that chose her secrets over me."

"Think hard, Rio… was _she_ the only one who played the deception game?"

For the first time, he looked her in the eyes. "I still love her."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

He snorted quietly as he rubbed the back of neck. "You know, it's hard to tell if you're talking about Jerrica or Jem."

Aja was taken aback by his observation, but she continued to press him, saying, "Yes, it makes one wonder why, especially since the person that we're talking about should be obvious."

Rio smiled. "I deserved that too." With a chime, the doors finally opened, allowing him to step inside the car.

"Look, Rio," she said in a calmer tone, "You've been like a brother; I'm not asking you to stay out of Jerrica's life. Just give her some space."

Aja looked into Rio's eyes as the doors came to a close, searching in vain for any hint of acknowledgement. Now alone in the lobby, she turned to go back to the meeting hall when she stepped on something. She looked down to regard the wadded piece of paper at her feet.


	5. B-side

**Sausalito, California**

Stormer released the keys, and the final chord of the melody began to decay. The hall, once filled with music, was immediately replaced by the roar of the crowd at song's end. She loved this part of the show, but before she could revel in the energy, she was blinded when the all of the lights on stage flickered off. She fumbled her way to center stage. Her arm brushed against the warm brass of Jetta's saxophone when she passed her. Looking down at her feet, she smiled in relief and silently thanked whoever had the forethought to install dimmer lights in the baseboards along the walkway.

An involuntary yelp escaped Stormer's lips when something hard poked her in the back. She turned out of the way of the guitar head; the white hair of the person holding it was relatively easy to make out in the darkness. Roxy was more sensitive to changes in light, so if Stormer had a hard time making out shapes and colors in the darkness, then she knew Roxy must have been walking blind.

"Stormer?" Roxy reached out.

Stormer took her hand. "I've got you."

Following Jetta, Stormer led Roxy to the backstage area to the security detail, who escorted them to their dressing room. The endless applause continued to echo loudly even after the door closed behind them. Stormer took off her dress, and a team of assistants tended to her. She toweled the sweat off her skin and joined the rest of her bandmates. She closed her eyes as one set of hands blow dried her hair while another massaged the joints in her wrists and fingers.

The din of the dryer had died down by the time Stormer's eyes became accustomed to the lighting. She opened them and rested her gaze on their lead singer, Pizzazz, who was drinking her usual elixir of spring water and lime when the stage manager approached her. Stormer couldn't hear what they were saying across the room, but judging by the way that the manager was pointing at his watch, implied that they went over their time again. She snorted in amusement knowing that Pizzazz was in no position to hear them in earnest, not when they were all caught up in the rush of hearing their fans chant their _nom de bande__:_

_Misfits! Misfits! Misfits!..._

Pizzazz finished her drink, waved off her subordinates, and she stood up tall, saying, "The show isn't over until _I_ say it's over."

Stormer knew that that was her cue to stand up along with Roxy and Jetta, at which time, more assistants arrived to provide them all with raiment appropriate for an encore. A rack full of couture dresses was wheeled in front of her. Stormer arched an eyebrow when she noticed that they were all the same color—although the designs were varied. She thought it odd, until she saw that the others got a similar treatment, with the colors matching each of their unique hairstyles:

Pizzazz promptly slid her emerald piece over her head. It sparkled under the lights as it fell in place over her thin frame. She twisted the buckle on the gaudy designer belt tied loosely around her waist. All the while Stormer eyed the green gems embedded in the leather, _I wouldn't be surprised if those were real emeralds._

Stormer couldn't help but snigger when Jetta sent back her rack and demanded another. Apparently none of the selections matched with her black and gold saxophone. _At this rate, she'll end up going on stage wearing nothing at all_.

Stormer felt like a new woman with the cerulean dress draped over her body. Her eyes widened as her hands followed the twin beads of topaz sewn along the seam. Blushing, she tried in vain to pull the hemline down another inch. _I'm glad my brother isn't in the audience tonight. _

Roxy, on the other hand, didn't mind showing off her body in her ivory number. She even had a circular midriff cut out, exposing her belly. However, her skin was so pale that it was hard to differentiate her bare tummy from the surrounding fabric. Her dress was just as short as Stormer's, but she opted to coordinate it with knee high leather boots that complemented her toned legs. Stormer pouted as she watched her pose in the mirror. _Why didn't _I_ think of that?_

By now Jetta had decided on (or more likely settled for) a chic bubble-sleeved dress with fishnet stockings. The gold frills that lined the bottom of her obsidian mini swayed in unison when she slid her feet into her Mary Jane style pumps.

After they left the dressing room, Stormer took her place beside Jetta at the edge of the stage. She impatiently tapped her fingers at the base of her keytar, until the announcer started the introduction. All the while Roxy's overriding voice could be heard cursing out the stage hand who was responsible for shutting all the lights off earlier. The band's entrance onto the platform was met by the approval of the audience. The spotlight followed the four musicians as they made their way to the marker usually reserved for the lead singer. Stormer loved to improvise with _B-side_ material. Performing on the fly in a live concert was a welcome challenge because, for one thing, it meant they would have to play close together. This was when Stormer felt like she was truly a part of _The Misfits_ rather than a glorified backup vocalist. In this venue, they spoke to each other as equals in the language of music.

Pizzazz nodded in Roxy's direction, for tonight was her turn to start the set. Roxy brushed her white hair aside, and with deliberation she plucked three chords on her bass guitar, each one more baritone that the last. The speakers reverberated the air in the hall. With each strum bits of dried plaster from the ceiling above sprinkled onto the stage. With a gleam in her eye, she changed the key and ripped into a run, her fingers gliding across the neck of her instrument.

Jetta jumped in. Her piercing syncopating melody was the perfect complement to Roxy's smooth bass rhythm.

Of course, Stormer was no slouch, herself. Whenever Jetta's Sax posed a question, her keytar had an answer with its erudite dulcet tones.

Pizzazz was a good guitarist in her own right. However, it was her vocals that put the icing on the cake and served to be the glue for the competing harmonies.

They jammed for another half hour before Pizzazz called it a show. After a proper bow out, they continued to ham it up in true Misfit fashion before finally heading offstage. On the way back, Stormer slipped her shoes off of her aching feet. Once inside the dressing room, she plopped into the chair next to Roxy and massaged the muscles in her legs. Normally, she would have expected to have the tour chef prepare them a meal after the show. However, Pizzazz was eager to leave. Rather than wait for the limo, Stormer opted to follow Roxy to the buffet table while it was still open. She knew Roxy was serious about her food and was not about to miss out on a meal just because Pizzazz was in one of her moods. It was for the best since Roxy was grumpier than usual when she was hungry. When they got there, Stormer prepared doggie bags for herself and the others while she waited for Roxy to finish eating.

The walk back seemed to take much longer. The corridor leading to the limo was long and twisted. The dirty plaster on the walls was peeling and made odd shadows when cast in the lighting overhead. The only sound that could be heard, other than their footsteps, was Stormer's purse of goodies as it brushed against her leg. After Roxy finished off her deli sandwich, Stormer saw that she was in better spirits and decided to break the silence.

"I noticed that you didn't smash you guitar onstage tonight."

Roxy shrugged. "Eric said he'd only pay for five this year, so I'm pacing myself."

"I liked your improv for the encore."

"Meh, it was okay."

Stormer playfully bumped Roxy in order to goad her out of her reticence. "Blues in E-flat? Swapping by the fours?"

She shrugged again. "If you say so. You know I just go by ear."

"Yea, I know. I just find it curious given that it's in the same style as that demo I played for you last week. Does this mean that you're thinking about our little solo project?"

"I think you're looking too deeply into it," Roxy replied. "Is this why you're being so touchy-feely today?" She reached into the purse Stormer was carrying and pulled out a bag of corn chips reserved for Jetta.

Stormer promptly snatched the chips back and replaced them. "You take that back. I am not touchy-feely."

Out of the corner of her eye, Roxy saw that Stormer was pouting. She sighed loudly. "Yes, I've been thinking about it."

Stormer's expression softened. "Good."

"As long as this isn't some kind of stunt to trick me into working with a Hologram."

"I would never do something so cruel. This single would just be me and you."

"Why didn't you ask your Hologram gal-pal Kimber to cut another album with you?" Roxy asked with a scowl. "Or does Pizzazz not want you working with her anymore?"

"Well, for one, this song that I've written is tailor made for your vocals. And besides, why should Pizzazz care if I work with Kimber again given that we're under a truce with the Holograms anyway?"

Roxy threw up her hands in frustration. "Because they're goody two-shoes Holograms—wait a minute, what truce?"

Exasperated, Stormer replied, "You were standing right next to Pizzazz when she buried the hatchet with Jem at Bah-nee's going away party last year. Don't you remember?"

Roxy snorted. "Oh, that? That was just for the party. It wasn't meant to be permanent."

Stormer's pouty expression revisited her face. "You're not going start anything with them again are you? Now that my brother is getting serious with Aja, it's going to make Thanksgivings awkward enough."

"Well, picking on The Holograms has gotten boring. It just doesn't have the same _zing _that it used to," Roxy replied, flippantly. "So, I guess I can leave the hatchet buried."

Stormer smiled. She reached into the purse and offered Roxy a bag of Jetta's favorite corn chips. "See there? You can be nice when you want to be—"

"You take that back." Roxy snatched the bag from her. "I am not nice."

"Yes you are." Stormer put her arm around her shoulder, even though Roxy ignored her affections while she picked through the bag. "You do realize those are for Jetta, right?"

"Yeah," she replied, with her mouth full. "What's your point?"

Stormer was about to answer when a figure approached them from the other side of the hallway. It was obvious that he wasn't part of the crew as he was dressed in dirty, green rags. He lumbered in their direction, hugging the opposite wall and nursing a bottle of booze wrapped in a brown paper sack. Stormer didn't see any security in sight and wondered if they should turn around. To her dismay, Roxy didn't once break stride and continued to push past the vagrant. Stormer stayed close behind her; she always admired Roxy's bravado. Then again, Roxy had the dubious advantage of growing up on the streets where bravado was a necessary life skill. She breathed a sigh of relief when he was out of earshot.

"Sheesh, they'll give a backstage pass to anyone these days," Roxy said.

Stormer felt more relaxed when they came within sight of the limousine. They were met at the door by Zipper—one of their manager's more shady cronies. They slid into the roomy backseat and sat on the other side of Pizzazz and Jetta who had already made themselves at home. Pizzazz was flipping through the local TV stations. Jetta had her saxophone broken down in her lap so as to clean it; she never trusted anyone with her instrument, least of all the loading crew, which is why she always carried it with her.

When Stormer placed the purse in the middle of the floor, Pizzazz and Jetta helped themselves. Stormer folded her arms and looked out the window as they drove off, _would it have killed them to say thank-you?_ Sometimes she wished they got along as well offstage as they did on.

Jetta grabbed a soda and chips, poking through the bag for a full minute before glaring at Roxy. "Eh, now? What's the big idea?"

_Here we go again..._

A wicked smile visited Roxy's lips. "What?"

"You picked out all the extra-cheesy ones again."

"That's because I like the extra-cheesy ones."

"So do I, you daft cow!"

"Hey, I didn't say anything last week when you ate all the cherry popsicles and left only the green ones in the box—"

"That's because I don't like the green ones, yank."

"Nobody likes the green ones!"

"I like the green ones—"

"Shut up, Stormer!"

Pizzazz clicked the TV off, seeing as how she couldn't hear it anyway. "How about you_ all_ shut up! You're ruining my buzz."

"But, Pizzazz, you haven't started drinking yet," Stormer replied, with a grin.

"Exactly."

"Well, I think tonight calls for a special celebration to kick off this tour," Jetta proclaimed. "Especially considering how we kicked butt tonight."

"When do we not kick butt?" Roxy said, irritated by Jetta's hubris; Jetta merely rolled her eyes in response.

Pizzazz shook her head. "No party tonight, we're blowing this berg first thing in the morning. I hate Sausalito. There's nothing to do here."

"Not to mention the total lack of cute straight guys to _not_ do it with," Roxy added.

Jetta frowned. "Well I just assumed otherwise since we're not heading back to the hotel."

Pizzazz's eyes perked. Nonplussed, she quickly glanced out of the window to take note of their surroundings. "You're right. This isn't the way back." The irritation in her voice became apparent after she switched on the intercom. "Zipper! I told you to take us back to the hotel, you idiot!"

The driver did not answer right away. Pizzazz was about to lower the privacy glass when a voice responded:

"Relax. We're taking the scenic route."

"Scenic route, my ass! Turn this car around now!" Seeing that her order was ignored, she continued to push the other buttons on the control panel to no effect. "Zipper is so fired when we get out of here!"

"That wasn't Zipper, something about the voice isn't right," Roxy said, with an uncharacteristically pensive expression.

Jetta snorted nervously. "What are you babbling about?"

Pizzazz continued to click the buttons on the control panel to no avail. "Don't jump to any conclusions." Pizzazz tried to downplay the situation, even though she knew better than to question Roxy's instincts. "We all saw Zipper very clearly when we got into the car."

"What are we going to do?" Stormer said.

"We've been in tougher scrapes, Misfits," Pizzazz said with resolve in her voice. It was times like this that she showed why she was their leader both on and off the stage. "We'll play it dumb for now and jump him when he lets us out. This is obviously Zipper's idea of a joke—a very unfunny joke."

Stormer appreciated Pizzazz's confidence. However, something about this new turn of events gave her pause. Pizzazz was indeed correct in that, as a group, the Misfits have fallen into many odd adventures, but this time felt different. Looking around the car at her bandmates, the apprehension in their manner, she knew that they felt it too. Lost in her thoughts, she failed to notice how tightly she clasped her hand around Roxy's wrist.


	6. Target Acquired

**Sausalito, California – warehouse district.**

Roxy regarded Stormer's hand clasped tightly around her wrist. Stormer's attention seemed to be miles away. When they stopped at the next intersection, a man from the street approached the limousine and sprayed water on the windows. He then proceeded to clean the glass with his squeegee.

Stormer beat on the door from the inside to get his attention. "Hello? Can you hear me? Help us!"

"You're wasting your breath." Roxy said, massaging her wrist. "He can't help us."

"Why?"

She folded her arms and scowled. "Because he's homeless."

Stormer wiped the streaks of mascara that had dried on her cheeks. "You were homeless once."

Roxy curled her lip, but did not respond. Stormer continued to beat on the glass. The driver rolled down the window and threw some spare change out onto the pavement, which the vagrant eagerly collected. The light turned green, and they were off again. Roxy had been proven right, but when she saw Stormer crestfallen, she took her hand and put her arm around her bandmate's shoulder.

The driver turned off the main road and followed the side streets into a complex of abandoned warehouses. They reached a parking lot that had fallen into disrepair. Weeds had started to grow through the many cracks in the concrete. They drove to the center of the lot and parked in front of an unmarked van stationed next to three men on motorcycles. A fourth man, with mussed auburn hair, stepped out of the van, walked over to the limo, and opened the passenger door.

"Get out."

Roxy watched Pizzazz exit first, followed by Stormer and Jetta. She hung back to check for the switchblades she kept concealed in her boots. When she finally stepped out, the man with the mussed hair closed the door behind her and shoved her with the others. Roxy glared back at him but did not protest—being more concerned with reckoning her surroundings. At first glance, these men all seemed like a low rent motorcycle gang. However, there was nothing low rent about their gear. Their motorcycles were custom made and state of the art.

The driver exited the limousine. From behind he looked like Zipper, but when he took his wig off to reveal his orange hair underneath, it confirmed Roxy's suspicion that he was an imposter. He took off Zipper's familiar jacket and tossed it to the biker with black hair. Apparently he was the leader, as he started giving orders to the blond biker, whom he referred to as Buzzer. He gave the Misfits a short once over and retired to the back of the van.

Pizzazz had become visibly bored with the theatrics. "Okay, I'll bite. Who are you jokers supposed to be?"

"We're The Dreadnoks, and we will be your escorts this evening." Buzzer replied, bowing with false graces.

Jetta stood next to Pizzazz, her saxophone gripped firmly in her hands. "We're not going anywhere with you, Goldilocks."

"Now, that's not very nice. Someone outta teach you some manners."

Pizzazz rebuked Buzzer, saying, "Here's a tip, asstard: you'd get more respect if you didn't name your gang after a hairstyle. Now, run along before your rivals, _The French Braids_, stop by for a rumble."

Roxy clenched her jaw._ Sheesh, Pizzaz, don't play with these guys!_

Buzzer laughed. "No, luv, I didn't say, 'dreadlocks.' I said _Dreadnoks_."

"Like anyone gives a flip, bloke," Jetta said.

"What's with all this palaver, Buzzer?" said the red-haired biker.

"Quiet, Torch," Buzzer replied. "We're just having a nice conversation." He turned back to Jetta and said, "Do I detect an accent, luv?"

"Yea, and I happen to be a close personal friend of the Queen Mum. So, you better watch yourself, wanker."

Buzzer snorted. "Didn't your mummy and daddy ever tell you what happens to little girls who tell lies?"

Stormer's focus remained on the jacket formerly worn by the limo driver, which was now sported by the black-haired biker. "Isn't that Zipper's jacket?"

"My name's Ripper, not Zipper, girlie," the biker donning the jacket replied.

Torch punched Ripper in the arm. "I think she's meanin' to inquire about the bloke who gave you that jacket."

"Oh, right." Ripper turned his attention to the mussed-hair Dreadnok and said, "The pretty girl wants an audience with Zipper. Why don't you bring him out for us, Monkeywrench?"

"Sure thing, Ripper." Monkeywrench opened the trunk to the limo and reached inside. "It was awfully nice o' him. But, then again, it's not like he needed it anymore." He closed the trunk and threw a bag onto the pavement. The bag struck the floor, the clasp loosened, and an object rolled out.

The Misfits all shrieked at once. Roxy and Stormer shuffled back when Zipper's head rolled across their toes. It wobbled back and forth to finally settle on its side—its rigid expression telling of how Zipper was very much alive at the time his head was sawed off.

Monkeywrench walked slowly toward the Misfits, stepping calmly over Zipper's remains. He made a grab for Jetta, but Roxy pushed him. He stumbled but regained his balance. With a snarl he back handed Roxy across her face. She fell to her knees, and banged her head on the side of the door.

"Bitch slap!" Ripper cheered, egging him on.

Roxy wiped a trickle of blood from her lip. She grabbed the disembodied head by the hair, stood up and swung as hard as she could, smashing the cranium against Monkeywrench's forehead.

The Dreadnok fell to the ground, and the other Misfits followed Roxy's lead in kicking him. Helpless, he covered up.

Torch leaned back in his chopper and laughed. "Oi, right brutal that is."

Buzzer smirked, content to let the spectacle go on for a little longer. "I s'pose we should help him, eh? After all, we are on the clock."

Buzzer, Ripper, and Torch dismounted. Pizzazz and Stormer were the first to go, being surprised from behind by Ripper and Buzzer. They took the women kicking and screaming behind the van.

Roxy and Jetta stood back to back to fight off Torch and Monkeywrench. Jetta swung blindly, using her signature saxophone as a weapon. Roxy drew the switchblade hidden in her boot and slashed at Torch.

Torch hopped back, but not before the blade cut his shirt open. "Oi, this one has some street in her."

The orange-haired driver came from behind the van, escorted by Ripper and Buzzer. He carried a silver oblong device with a lens on the end and tapped it impatiently against his leg as he approached. "Torch, what's taking so long?"

"We have things under control, Zandar," Torch said. He dodged another swipe.

"It doesn't look like it from where I stand." Zandar nodded to Ripper.

Ripper pushed Monkeywrench aside. He raised his rifle; the attached saber-bayonet cut through Jetta's saxophone as if it were tin foil. "That'll be enough of that, luv."

Jetta gasped, her instrument now in pieces. Monkeywrench and Ripper grabbed Jetta's arms. Roxy watched, helpless, as they held her while Zandar pointed the machine at Jetta. A blue light shot out of the device and enveloped the raven-haired Misfit in energy. After the energy dissipated, she feinted and slumped in their grasp. Monkeywrench slung her over his shoulder and carried her to the back of the van.

Roxy was distracted by the display which allowed Torch to slap the knife from her hand. He held her fast in a bear hug. Zandar pointed the device at Roxy, but nothing happened.

"What's wrong?" Torch asked.

Zandar checked the scanner readout briefly. "There's an error scanning this one."

"Is the doohickey busted?"

"No." Zandar grabbed Roxy firmly by the chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "_Oculocutaneous amelanism_."

Torch grimaced. "Ew! Is it contagious?"

Buzzer slapped Torch on the back of the head. "It means she's an albino_,_ you moron."

Zandar released Roxy. "I'll have to recalibrate the scanner. In the meantime, I'll process the scans I've collected so far. " He headed back to the van.

Buzzer let out an exaggerated sigh. "How long is that gonna take? Zartan is not gonna be happy if we're late."

"It takes as long as it takes; I'm not making a pizza."

Before Buzzer could respond, Ripper cut him off saying, "No worries, Zandar. Take your time." He turned to Buzzer and said with a wink, "I've never had an albino before."

"Me neither." Buzzer returned Ripper's wink with a leer. "Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

Getting a sense of where this was going, Torch shook his head in disgust. "I don't know, mates, look at her eyes: they're red like blood. Them's the devil's eyes."

Buzzer promptly slapped Torch on the back of the head again. "It's cuz she's got no pigment, you numskull."

"Yeah, so quit yer whinin' and hold her down," Ripper added.

Torch obeyed and held Roxy on the ground with her hands above her head. Roxy kicked and bucked violently, until Buzzer grabbed her by the ankles. Her only recourse was to assault them verbally, spitting and cursing at the top of her voice. That is, until Ripper kneeled over her, drew his blade and held the point under her chin.

"Hey! Don't cut her till we've had our turn!"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Buzzer. This is just to keep her still."

_Oh God! I don't wanna be here! I can't do this again! _Roxy resisted the urge to panic when Ripper slid his hand up through her midriff and under her bra. A wave of nausea swept over her with every squeeze and pinch of his fingers .

Buzzer's hands were rough and chaffed the skin of her inner thigh. Fighting against her instincts, she allowed her legs to part, giving him easier access. Her hands, held fast between Torch's legs, probed until she found his bulge. With her fingertips, she began to caress it lightly. She couldn't stop her jaw from trembling, but she did her best to make the whimpers that came out of her mouth sound like moans.

"I think the slut likes it," Torch said.

"Yea, just like that whore in Vegas," Ripper replied.

Roxy swallowed the lump in her throat so she could speak. She leaned in to whisper in Ripper's ear, "A-are you h-hard?"

"Oh, yea, baby."

"I-I wanna s-see it."

Ripper stood over her and started to unbuckle his trousers. "Luv, you're gonna feel it in about two seconds—"

"Good!" She violently slipped her legs out of Buzzer's relaxed grip. She coiled under Ripper and kicked with both feet into his exposed groin.

Ripper screamed and instinctively grabbed his crotch as he fell backwards onto Buzzer. At the same time, her fingers clasped around Torch's bulge. The thick denim of his pants kept her from digging her nails in, but it was enough to make him let go. Roxy scrambled to her feet. She lost her bearings, so she ran without regard for direction. If she could make it to one of the abandoned buildings, then she could disappear; they would never find her. Unfortunately, she forgot about Monkeywrench. He caught up to her, grabbed her by the hair and spun her around. She swung blindly and managed to knock the glasses off his face. He punched her in the stomach. She hugged her belly and eased herself to the ground. Her diaphragm spasmed as she gasped for air. Her teeth clenched to stop the whimpers, but there was nothing she could do to stop the tears.

The noise had attracted Zandar's attention. "What in the hell are you idiots doing? Stop screwing around and set her up for a rescan." After reprimanding them, he returned to the van to finish his calibrations.

Ripper, who was still doubled over in pain, said, "I'm gonna cut you for that, bitch!" He forced himself to his feet, one hand remaining cupped over his groin. He managed to stand, although he remained half-bent.

Buzzer shook his head. "No, if you kill her now, Zartan'll 'ave your head."

"But I wanna see her bleed. She'll look so pretty in red. What's the difference if we scan a corpse?"

"Back off, bloke," Torch said, putting himself between her and Ripper. "You're not ruining my bonus because you took one in the jewels. You only 'ave yourself to blame."

"Yea, Ripper. Where's your sense of professionalism?" Monkeywrench added.

The round table discussion was interrupted by the sound of lumbering footsteps in the darkness. The transient, dressed in green rags, stepped out of the shadows. He kicked back his head to finish off the last of his booze. With a belch, he discarded the bottle; it shattered loudly against pavement.

"You bucks got any spare change?" he said, struggling to maintain his balance.

"No, we don't have any change," Monkeywrench said. "Get a job, you bum. I can smell the rotgut on you from here!"

The bum approached closer, eyeing the half-conscious Roxy. "That's a nice piece of tail you guys have there. Can I watch?"

Torch, resolved to keep Ripper restrained, spat on the ground, saying, "Someone else get him out of here! And put 'im down, _quiet-like_."

Buzzer approached the transient and grabbed him tightly by the shoulder. "Sorry, bloke, this is a private train: no looksies."

The transient stumbled and held onto Buzzer's wrist, as if for support. When Buzzer raised his Billy club, a hint of a smile escaped the transient's lips. Before Buzzer could react, a pain shot down to his shoulder as his arm was hypersupinated in a joint lock. He was then spun off his feet and fell hard on his back. A follow-up stomp to the side of his head made sure he stayed down.

Maintaining the element of surprise, the transient rushed the nearest Dreadnok with a spinning backfist. Monkeywrench took the shot easily enough, but before he realized it was merely a distraction, a size thirteen-delta army boot lodged into the side of his ribs.

Roxy was half conscious when Torch's roar roused her back to awareness. She bolted upright to see the burly Dreadnok rush the bum who stopped to clean their windshield: the same bum that she now remembered passing in the hallway with Stormer. The 'bum' threw off his raggedy poncho, and he gracefully sidestepped Torch's charge—like a skilled toreador—to reveal the military grade combat fatigues that he wore underneath.

Roxy heard a sound and turned to see Ripper reach for his gun. Without regard as to whether this new stranger was friend or foe, she called out to warn him. However, it was unnecessary; he spun in midair and released an object at the height of his inertia. Ripper slumped to the ground, grabbing his forehead as well as his groin. The squeegee clacked loudly on the concrete as it fell next to him after bouncing off his skull.

Torch was back on his feet. He and the stranger squared off, but Torch was more careful this time, and he drew his knife. The stranger held his ground, keeping his fists up _en garde_. He waited patiently, tracking Torch with his lead hand as he attempted to maneuver in at an angle. When Torch feinted, the stranger made his move. Pushing off with his back leg, he brought his lead arm down to parry the knife thrust before planting his back fist dead center into Torch's nose. The Dreadnok's head snapped back violently; he staggered briefly and collapsed on his side. The stranger remained vigilant, making sure that there were no more enemies lurking about.

In the space of barely a minute, this man had taken out four armed professionals. The action had been so furious that Roxy never got a clear look at the stranger's face. He reached into his pocket to retrieve a balaclava which he put over his head. She wasn't sure if this was a rescue or if she was merely trading one set of kidnappers for another. The fact that he was now wearing a ski mask did nothing to inspire her confidence as to his intentions. As a result, she deemed it prudent to err in her favor, so when he approached her, she forced herself to her feet and reared back.

"Get away from me!"

He caught her punch and grabbed her firmly by the arms. "We don't have time for this. I'm here to help you. My name is Beach Head. I'm an agent for G.I. Joe."

_G.I. Joe_. The name sprouted images in Roxy's head; images that she remembered seeing on the news: men in green shooting at men in blue, a funny man in a mask that talked with a lisp, stories that she dismissed as propaganda—until she found herself living one. "You have to help my friends."

"I know. Stay behind me."

She obeyed and stood at a comfortable distance as she watched the soldier draw his pistol and advance to the back of the vehicle where the rest of the Misfits were taken. He held his position when Zandar stepped out from behind the van.

"Don't move, Zandar."

Zandar stopped in his tracks; his expression one of surprise. "G.I. Joe?"

"You're under arrest. Release your prisoners. Now!"

Zandar's expression hardened, and he raised his hands in surrender. "Your wish is my command."

A figure dressed in cerulean stepped out from behind Zandar. Roxy's eyes widened, and she ran past Beach Head to meet her.

"Stormer!"

"Roxy?" The woman in blue held out her hand. "I'm scared. Please..."

"It's okay, Stormer, you're safe now. I have you."

Roxy reached back to take her hand. Their fingers were about to touch when Beach Head pushed Roxy aside. He leveled his pistol at the woman in cerulean.

_BLAM!_

Roxy looked on in horror at the hole left in her bandmate's head. Stormer's eyes rolled up in their sockets; her eyelids fluttered and her head kicked back, as if it here detached from her neck. She fell straight onto her back as stiff as a board.

Roxy drew her backup switchblade. She popped the spring and planted it into Beach Head's shoulder. Caught off guard, Beach Head tripped and fell backwards, the knife held fast in his Kevlar vest. Roxy straddled him. In her grief, and retroactive rage, she flailed her fists upon him with furious aggression.

The tears in her eyes clouded her vision, so she swung blind as she cursed him. "YOU BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU! She was my friend!"

Beach Head struggled to pull the knife out of his shoulder while he fended off Roxy's punches. Through clenched teeth he replied, "That's not your friend!"

Roxy paused from sheer exhaustion. She wiped the tears from her eyes when she caught a glimpse of movement: Stormer was sitting up. Roxy looked on, mouth agape, as the bullet worked its way out of the entry hole in Stormer's forehead to fall to the pavement.

The hole began to seal itself, and the woman in cerulean looked back at Roxy with lifeless eyes. She cocked her head to one side as she crouched on all fours. "That wasn't very nice."

Roxy blinked. "What the fu—"

She tackled Roxy, and they rolled for several feet onto the hard concrete, ending with Stormer sitting astride her. Roxy whimpered from the pain as Stormer pinned her down. They were nose to nose, allowing Roxy to see even more closely into her captor's inhuman eyes. She didn't understand how, but she now believed that this thing was not Stormer. What was even more bone chilling was to hear it speak in her bandmate's familiar voice:

"_Datum:_ Roxanne Pellegrini. _Mission parameters:_ capture and retrieval. _Conclusion:_ administer a non-lethal dose of trichloromethane to ensure compliance."

This thing that looked like Stormer opened its mouth. Roxy gasped as a large metallic nozzle protruded slowly out of its orifice. Roxy turned her head aside to avoid the thick green gas that shot out of the nozzle. It splashed against her cheek. In a panic, she screamed for help—and help came.

Beach Head jumped onto the thing's back. With a flick of his wrist, a baton extended from his hand. He brought it under the automaton's neck and squeezed hard enough to break the neck of a normal human. However, the best he could manage was to pinch off the gas that shot out of the nozzle. He rolled backwards, leveraging all of his 180 pounds to peel it off of Roxy. With it now positioned over him, he kicked it off with both legs and sent it flying for several feet.

The synthoid landed on all fours like a cat. It crab walked left and right, trying to get a bead on her. Beach Head kept himself between it and Roxy. He drew his weapon and fired, but it scurried with frightening speed to dodge the bullets. He stopped firing, but kept his weapon raised—best to save his ammo for when he really needed it. Keeping one eye on the synthoid, he tried to assist Roxy, but she was still groggy from the effects of the chloroform, so he let her rest.

"Wh—what is that thing?" she said, coughing to clear her lungs.

"It's called a synthoid. I'll hold it off for as long as I can."

The synthoid leapt . Beach Head dropped and rolled backwards, allowing it to sail over him. He vaulted to his feet when the synthoid landed behind him and greeted it with a jumping-spinning crescent kick that connected with the side of its skull. Its head spun 180 degrees from the force of the kick. In a macabre display, it charged again, its dislocated head bobbed back and forth. Beach Head sidestepped it and planted a knee into its midsection. He then twisted in the opposite direction and struck the base of its neck with the ridge of his hand.

The synthoid retreated briefly to twist its head back into alignment. "Implementing countermeasures for Okinawan Uechi-Ryu Karate."

Synthoid-Stormer pushed off the ground with its arms and cartwheeled behind him. Beach Head ducked a jumping-spinning crescent kick aimed to take his head off. On the return, it punched him dead center in the chest. The force of the punch sent Beach Head stumbling backward. He recovered his balance just as the synthoid assailed him. He parried the punch, hooked his arm behind its neck, and flipped it to the ground. He maintained a hold of its arm, supinating it at the elbow as hard as he could.

"Implementing countermeasures for Korean Hapkido."

It spun out of the joint lock and turned to reverse the grip on its wrist. Beach Head rolled with the reverse and slipped under its arm to flip it over his shoulder. The synthoid rolled with the flip, rotated its shoulder an amazing 270 degrees, and slipped under his arm to attempt the same shoulder throw.

_Its using my own tactics against me._

Beach Head rolled across the synthoid's back, and managed to reverse its grip. Locking the elbow, he used his weight to jam its spine. However, the synthoid was able to bend backwards to an impossible degree. It somersaulted sideways, broke out of the elbow lock, and slipped its hand around his neck.

With one hand, it hoisted Beach Head above the ground as he struggled to breathe. Its other hand started to morph; the fingers melded together and lengthened to a razor thin edge.

"_Datum:_ unknown G.I. Joe operative. _Mission parameters:_ extirpation. _Conclusion:_ manual evisceration of the thoracic cavity."

Seizing upon the opportunity of close quarters, Beach Head jammed his pistol into the synthoid's mouth. "Let's see you implement countermeasures for this!"

_BLAM!_

The synthoid dropped him. Sparks shot out of its ears and nose briefly, and it fell to the ground—its limbs twitching.

Beach Head managed to catch his breath, but his reprieve was short lived. Looking back to the van, he saw that the rest of Zandar's "prisoners" were approaching: one dressed in emerald, and the other dressed in obsidian. Beach Head checked the ammo in his clip and prepared to fire. His eyes narrowed when he noticed that the emerald Pizzazz-Synthoid stopped its advance. The skin on its arm bubbled, as if it were being superheated. The Pizzaz-Synthoid was forced to back away. The Jetta-Synthoid got a similar treatment and it likewise retreated from the invisible heat source. They stood there scanning the area, apparently searching for a way to safely pass to no avail.

Beach Head heaved a sigh of relief, "It's about time, Sci-Fi." He made his way back toward Roxy and helped her to her feet. "Coffee break's over. Can you run?"

Roxy shrugged him off. "Can _you_ keep up?"

They ran in a path parallel to their new found safety zone to a large building that led them in an alleyway, at the end of which was a broken fence. After they climbed over, they came upon an empty lot bordered by an abandoned stretch of road. There was nothing beyond that but darkness.

Beach Head drew his pistol. "They'll be coming!" He pointed to the right. "Head for the RV!"

Roxy continued to run toward the darkness—anything to get away from their pursuers. A mechanical clicking sound stopped her in her tracks. She felt heat emanating from the dark: there was something nearby. She yelped when a floodlight blinded her. She stepped outside of the glare to see the outline of a large hulking machine. Most of its features were hidden in shadow. Its outer 'skin' protruded and fanned out like scales on a pinecone. She approached it cautiously, the air surrounding it smelled like ozone. When she reached out to touch it, a jet of steam shot out of from under its tires. The behemoth lowered, and its metallic skin started to open. A ramp ejected from the portal and the figure of a man stepped out. He was clad in green and silver. A headpiece, resembling an astronaut's helmet, covered his face. He was carrying a weapon that looked like a ray gun straight out of a bad science fiction movie. He walked toward her, and she instinctively backed away, tripping on some loose gravel and landing on her backside.

He extended his hand to her saying, "_Come with me if you want to live_."

Beach Head caught up to them, firing the last of his ammo at the fast approaching synthoids. "Sci-Fi, cut that out, and get her inside the VAMP!"

Sci-Fi took Roxy by the arm and escorted her inside. With a hiss the door closed behind them. Roxy looked around in amazement as Sci-Fi strapped her into a nearby seat. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought she was inside of a spaceship. It was brightly lit in sterile, white colors. The cramped insides belied its massive exterior with every inch of usable space made available for various electronics. However, it was still roomy enough to walk around in. Sci-Fi took the station next to Roxy. A flat panel display above him showed an enhanced view of the grounds outside. Across from her sat another soldier dressed in gold fatigues and wearing a green helmet, whom Sci-Fi referred to as Airtight. Beach Head briskly walked by, nursing his shoulder from her stab wound. Her eyes followed him to the front of the vehicle. One of the two drivers turned in her seat to face him: a rather attractive woman with green eyes and auburn hair.

"You should've waited for us to get into position?" she said to Beach Head.

"There was no time, Cover Girl." He turned to the co-driver, saying, "What's our status, Cross-Country?"

"All systems are green, but we're about to be overrun with synthoids."

"Magnetize the chassis."

A hum followed by a series of clicks was heard outside.

"Magnets on," Cross-Country said.

"Confirmed," Airtight replied. "Power levels are at 100 percent."

Beach Head pushed a button in the ceiling and a periscope descended. He peered into the eyepiece. "Prepare the synthoid countermeasures."

"Hypersonics are online," Airtight said, not taking his eyes off his monitor. "Standing by on your mark."

"Mark!"

A faint hum of electronics broke the silence as everyone in the cab waited with quiet apprehension. Roxy eyed the viewscreen above Sci-Fi's station. To her dismay, the synthoids continued their advance, showing no obvious signs of distress.

After several seconds, Beach Head cursed and discontinued the hypersonics. "The synthoid countermeasures aren't working. Can you remodulate the emitter?"

For the first time, Airtight looked up from his monitor and turned to face Beach Head. "I ran that pulse across the entire spectrum. It appears that they've overcome that design flaw."

"I hate upgrades!" Beach Head slapped the periscope back into the ceiling. "Cover Girl, get us out of here!"

Cover Girl pulled down the goggles that were propped above her forehead. When she touched the steering wheel, the dashboard lit up. She primed the accelerator and the engine roared. She was about to engage the transmission, when Cross-Country got a perimeter alert.

"Cover Girl! Bogey on our three o'clock!"

"I see him, Cross-Country."

Roxy's monitor, auto-synched to the alert, caught a glimpse of what tripped the alarm. She gasped. This thing that bored down on them easily outsized the Joe's VAMP.

Cover Girl popped the clutch and geared the stick just in time. Everyone jerked forward as the engine screamed in reverse. The display blurred when she cut the wheel and spun the car in a one-quarter turn as she slammed on the brakes. Their attacker missed them by mere feet. When the dust settled, the two vehicles were situated catty-corner with respect to the drivers. Cover Girl lowered her goggles and looked out her port window; she was face to face with the dreadnok Thrasher.

Thrasher rolled down his window and regarded Cover Girl. He eyed her with a wicked sneer, but bowed to her respectfully. Cover Girl smiled and graciously nodded back behind the glass. Without standing on further ceremony, Thrasher took out his pistol and aimed it point blank at her.

_BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!_

Cover Girl blew the dreadnok a kiss as his bullets harmlessly bounced off the VAMP's penteplastic windows. She tauntingly used her _middle _finger to push her goggles back up over her eyes before speeding off.

-oOo-

Thrasher holstered his weapon gave chase. "Zandar, I think I'm in love. Such flawless beauty—and the driver's not bad lookin' either."

"Move this bucket of bolts, Thrasher!" Zandar said from the gunner's station.

"No worries, boss. I got a HISS engine under the hood of this_ Roadhog_. They're not gonna get away!"

"Then why is the distance between us _increasing?_" Zandar said, impatiently.

"Good point." Thrasher flipped a switch on his control panel. "I'm gonna hit the nitrous."

A burst of speed brought them within range. Zandar swung the turret forward and squeezed the trigger.

—oOo—

The sound of high caliber rounds bouncing off the hull was deafening inside the VAMP.

"Grrr. They're cheating," Cover Girl said.

"Damage report," Beach Head ordered.

"Negligible," Sci-Fi replied. "The new armor is holding."

When the hail of bullets suddenly stopped, Roxy removed her fingers from her ears. "Anyone else wondering why they've stopped shooting?"

"They must've run out of nitrous," Cross-Country answered.

"Maybe, but they've still managed to leave behind some guests," said Sci-FI.

The other passengers watched the monitor above. The two remaining synthoids were crawling along the surface. One of them dug in its fingers and ripped out a piece of the hull.

"What are they doing?" Roxy asked.

"They appear to be ripping the armor plating off piece by piece," Airtight replied.

"And without it, we won't last long against that chain gun," Beach Head added. He turned to CoverGirl, saying, "What kind of firepower do we have on this thing?"

Cover Girl bit her lip. "We're riding unarmed."

"WHAT?!"

"Lt. Jenkins didn't approve outfitting us with heavy ammo going into an urban area. I didn't object because this was supposed to be a shakedown cruise anyway. I wasn't expecting to take us into battle."

"Me and the Lieutenant are going to have a conversation after this is over. Ok, I'm open to suggestions, people."

Sci-Fi made a grab for his laser rifle. "Let me burn 'em off, Beach."

"Negative. It is too early in the mission for martyrs."

"Hold on!" Cover Girl turned down an alleyway and bounced the VAMP along the side of brick wall. Everyone inside was jostled roughly; however, the synthoids were too well dug in to be thrown off. "Oh well, I'm out of ideas."

"If I plug the auxiliary communications conduit into the backup generator, then I can electrify the outer hull," Airtight offered.

"Won't that fry us too?" Beach Head asked.

"No it won't," Cross-Country interjected. "I think it has something to do with the fact that we're rolling on rubber tires—"

Airtight scoffed. "No. Actually, it has more to do with Coulomb's Law, which states—"

Beach Head cut them off. "Less jawjackin' and more action!"

Airtight crouched under his station and removed a panel. After cross connecting some of the wiring, he made his way to the back of the vehicle, stumbling from the violent movements of Cover Girl's driving. He braced himself against the wall and pulled down a lever. Sparks shot out from the switch; the lights flickered, then dimmed.

Roxy kept her eyes glued to the monitor. An arc of electricity ripped through the synthoids. They were paralyzed. "It's working!"

"But the feedback is wreaking havoc on our subsystems. We have to slow down," said Cross-Country.

"We've lost telemetry… power levels are down to eighty percent," Sci-Fi said.

Airtight turned off the generator and went back to his station. "I'll reroute what I can."

"Are they gone?" Roxy asked. Her monitor, having been disabled by the power spike, showed only static.

"Yes!" Cross-Country said with restrained enthusiasm. However, his jubilation was cut short when another hail of bullets filled the cabin with noise. "Brace for impact!"

Cross-Country's warning was barely audible through the din. Everyone was jerked forward when Thrasher's Roadhog struck the VAMP from behind.

SCHOOM!

The cabin filled with vapor. The emergency exhaust fans kicked in, sucking out the gasses. When the air cleared, the station where Roxy was seated was gone.

Beach Head got up from his station and bolted over to the empty space. He struggled to keep his balance in the moving car. "What the hell happened just now?"

Cover Girl cursed as she cut the wheel and turned into a side street. "That last hit must've triggered the emergency eject function for her seat. But don't worry, in theory the parachute should open and land her safely to ground."

_"Theory?"_ Beach Head scoffed. "I thought this thing that you built was state of the art!"

"Hey, I'm not the one who gave the order to short out the electrical system!"

Beach Head went back to his station, strapped himself in and slapped the red button on the side of his seat. "I'm going after her—"

SCHOOM!

Airtight went to the gun cabinet. He grabbed a shotgun and a bandoleer strap full of ammo and returned to his station. "Hold down the fort, guys."

"Where are _you_ going?" said Sci-Fi.

Airtight hit the red button on the side of his seat. "He's going to need backup."

SCHOOM!

—oOo—

Zandar lowered his binoculars and chuckled under his breath.

"What is it Guv'nor?"

"They're splitting up, Thrasher. These Joe's are either very clever, or very stupid."

"So, which one do we go after?"

"Maintain pursuit of the RV." Zandar took out his walkie-talkie and pressed the button. "Buzzer, sound off."

"Buzzer here, chief."

How are the assets?

"They are secured in the van. Monkeywrench is driving them to our fallback location as we speak."

Where are you?

"Me, Ripper and Torch are two miles down your six."

"Do you see the parachutes above you at your nine o'clock?"

"Yeah, I see 'em."

"Break off and engage."

"With pleasure."


	7. Humanoid Assassination-Recon Prototype

**Sausalito, California – warehouse district**

Roxy gripped the armrest tightly. A perpetual rush of air blew her hair into her face. When the seat stopped rattling, she opened her eyes—she wished she hadn't. The last time she was this high off the ground was when Pizzazz forced her to go hangliding; she was no less afraid of heights then as she was now. She looked up, relieved at the open parachute that slowed her descent. She happened to land atop the roof of one of the larger buildings. After undoing her restraints, she walked around to the ledge. In the distance, she could see the lights from the bay. By contrast, the streets in her immediate area were dark and deserted. She closed her eyes and listened: between the gusts of wind, she heard faint echoes of screeching tires and the roar of super powered engines.

The condemned building swayed in the strong wind. The roof beneath Roxy's feet creaked with every step, and she felt as if it would give way at any moment. She kicked the rotten access door in and took the stairs to the floors below. The stale air smelled of urine and sulphur; the building may have been condemned, but it wasn't vacant. When her eyes adjusted to the dark, she treaded deeper into the building, coming into an open area of the floor where the smell had became more pronounced. She tripped over something soft: a body. It didn't move, and she didn't bother to check it. The noise disturbed some the other denizens scattered around the floor. Some ran off at the sight of her; others were more curious and approached.

A light from outside shone through a nearby window, illuminating Roxy's ghostly, white skin along with the glare of her red eyes. "What the hell are you bozos staring at!" They backed off.

The sound of motorcycle engines brought her attention back to the window. She wiped the grime off the pane and peered outside. She cursed when she saw Dreadnoks get off their bikes and enter the building.

—oOo—

"I think you lost them, Cover Girl," said Cross-Country. If we turn right on Alexander Avenue, that'll take us to Fort Baker. We can get backup."

"Negative. Beach and Airtight won't last that long. We're going back."

"What can we do without firepower?"

"They may have us outgunned, but we're more agile."

"What do you have in mind?"

In answer, Cover Girl pressed a button embedded in the wheel. "Closing blast shutters."

Cross-Country's eyes perked up. "Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

With a smirk, she reached for a lever on her control panel. "Activating co-driver assist."

"Yee Haw!"

"Hey, have you guys ever tried this at full-throttle?" Sci-Fi asked, nervously.

Cover Girl sensed the trepidation in her teammate's voice. "Don't worry. We've slammed these new VAMPs into the side of a MOBAT at full speed without loss of functionality."

"That's good for the car, but how did the crash dummies fare?"

"Just a little whiplash… except for that one at station four: we never could get its head back on right."

Sci-Fi rechecked the straps at his station, all the while staring at the number "four" marked above his seat.

Cover Girl leaned over to her co-driver and whispered, "I hope you're as good as you _think_ you are. This all depends on you, hot shot!"

Cross-Country turned the brim of his cap around as the periscope lowered over his station. "Piece of cake, Cover Girl."

Cover Girl resumed vetting her checklist. "Activating rear axle control to co-driver on my mark."

"Roger."

"Three… Two… One… Mark!"

Cross-Country's steering wheel jostled. "Confirmed. The rear tires are mine."

"And the front tires are mine. Sci-Fi, I need a satellite overlay please."

"I'm piping it into your HUD now, Boss Lady."

She smiled and peered into the periscope. "There they are. Let's go get 'em, boys!"

The VAMP backtracked to the warehouse complex. Following the satellite map, the Joes headed off Thrasher's Roadhog to a narrow junction where three roads intersected. The floodlights beamed.

—oOo—

"Why are the Joes just sitting there?" Zandar uttered, nonplussed.

Thrasher snorted, and he hit the gas. Likewise, the VAMP peeled off and headed toward them.

"Thrasher what are you doing?!"

"She wants to play chicken. And she's gonna lose."

Zandar secured his restraints. He took one last look at the fast approaching VAMP then put his head between his knees. _I hate Dreadnoks!_

Thrasher screamed and gritted his teeth, bracing himself in the cockpit. However, the VAMP's floodlights disappeared; the anticipated collision never came. He slammed on his brakes. "Where did they go?"

Zandar tapped on his Starboard window. "She flanked us!"

"Impossible! Nothing that big can bank at that speed without flipping over!"

Zandar glared at him as the roar of the VAMP's engine got increasingly louder. "Then I suggest that you amend your world view and get this piece of shit moving!"

He put his car in gear and cut the wheel. "Impossible." But it was too late. Thrasher and Zandar rocked violently in their seats when the VAMP sideswiped the Roadhog. The world turned upside down once, then twice, before the Roadhog finally settled on its side.

—oOo—

The Dreadnoks entered the warehouse accompanied by Synthoid-Stormer. Ripper secured their position by the door while Buzzer swept the area. Torch popped off several flares to illuminate the darkness. Many rows of tanks that lined the floor could be seen all the way to the far wall.

"Hey, should we be lighting those in here with the fumes and all?" Buzzer asked.

"This place is already fire damaged. Most of the flammables would've been burnt off ages ago." Torch took out his binoculars and eyed the upper tiers. "By the looks of it, this place was a distillery of some sort. It should be pretty safe as long as nobody starts chucking grenades."

Buzzer lit a cigarette and went back to check on Ripper. He found him by the entrance with the synthoid. The automaton's dress was dropped down to around its ankles. It stood motionless while Ripper examined its _particular _areas.

"Ripper, this is hardly the time or place."

Ripper ignored the rebuke. "You know, Buzzer, the craftsmanship on these doppelgangers is first-rate."

"You're sick, mate, you know that?"

"I'm just making sure the synthoid is fully functional, 's all."

"It's called a HARPy, not a synthoid."

"Whatever, it's all the same tech. And don't tell me you haven't thought about it, yourself."

Buzzer shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe."

"I wonder if it would feel the same in there." Ripper pulled its dress back up and patted it on the butt before sending it off, saying, "Go find Roxy, luv."

The machine obeyed and trotted off, disappearing behind one of the boilers.

Several floors above, Roxy was crawling along a beam that spanned a collapsed section of flooring. She needed to find a hiding place—she was an expert on hiding. A section of the beam cracked under her weight. She jumped clear seconds before it collapsed to fall to the floor below. She ran and hid behind a dilapidated boiler. After the terrible echo subsided, she peeked around the corner to see if the noise brought about any unwanted attention.

Roxy drew her head back and sighed, clutching her knees to her chest. When she opened her eyes, she saw a dark figure was crouched in front of her. Before she could make a sound, a hand clasped over her mouth. The figure leaned in closer out of the shadows. The face was masked, but she recognized those dark and intense eyes.

Beach Head removed his hand from her mouth. "Sorry, I couldn't risk you screaming and giving away your position... _again_," he whispered.

"You followed me?" she whispered back.

"We don't have much time. I've reconnoitered the area and found a way out. Let's go."

"Whoa, I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm safer on my own."

"This isn't a game, Pelligrini." He grabbed her by the arm and led her to the main warehouse area where the footing was more stable.

She finally managed to jerk her arm away. Stumbling, she grabbed onto the rail for support. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"The person who is trying to save your life."

"Let me tell you something, _soldier boy—_"

Beach Head heard a sound. "Shh, be quiet!"

They looked over the side of the rail. The height was dizzying. They hid behind a nearby stack of crates overlooking the common area. Beach Head took out his binoculars and got a lay of the floor below. Satisfied, he let Roxy have a look.

"It's those Dreadnoks. I saw them drive up earlier," She said.

"But why are they just standing around?"

Roxy bit her lip. "Uhm, soldier boy? When they first drove up, I could've sworn I saw Stormer with them."

A hand grabbed her arm. She was about to curse Beach Head for manhandling her again; however, when she looked up from the binoculars she saw Stormer's face. She screamed, and the HARPy jerked her off her feet.

Beach Head drew his gun, but the HARPy grabbed his wrist and whipped him around to the other side of he catwalk. He slammed against the rail and lost his footing to fall to the tier below. He managed to grab onto the rail and pull himself back up. Unfortunately, the sound had attracted the attention of the Dreadnoks on the ground. They opened fire on his position. Beach Head dove behind some rusted steel plating and returned fire.

On the tier above, the HARPy was dragging Roxy along by the arm to the end of the catwalk leading to the stairs. Roxy managed to stop it by hooking her other arm around a column using all of her strength. She yelped in pain from the strain it put on her shoulder:

"Wait a minute," she pleaded. "You're programmed to act like Stormer—uhm, Mary Philips, right?"

Expressionless, it cocked its head to one side. "Affirmative."

"Well, she would never hurt me. So, _conclusion: _you should never hurt me."

Its eyes glazed over, as if it were processing her words. "Your conclusion is non sequitur."

With a tug, the HARPy continued to drag her along. A cluster of bullets shot around them. One of the stray rounds bounced off its skull.

"_Datum:_ Friendly fire armor-piercing tracer rounds. _Conclusion_: protection."

It shielded Roxy with its body. Bullets continued to zing by them randomly, severely weakening the catwalk. Beach Head, seeing that Roxy was safer with the HARPy, had no choice but to stay behind cover and return fire. He then heard the distinctive sound of a shotgun blast across from him. He looked up to see Airtight firing into the Dreadnoks. Once spotted Airtight ducked behind a drum just in time avoid a flurry of tracers that tore up his position. Using handspeak, Beach Head signaled for him to intercept Roxy, and he drew their fire enabling Airtight to get into position.

A stray bullet pierced one of the tanks at ground level. The sparse gasses inside ignited. A chain reaction caused a series of explosions that rattled the building.

The last explosion destroyed one of the columns supporting the upper tiers. Fire started to spread quickly inside the warehouse, fed by the remnants of aged chemicals and trash. The grating that supported Roxy and the HARPy gave way. The HARPY leapt to safety just as Roxy wriggled out of its grasp. She fell over the side, but BeahHead—who was shadowing them below—caught her by the arm.

Roxy screamed.

Beach Head leaned precariously over the side, but he managed to hold her. The rail splintered off the walkway, Beach Head had no choice but to grab it lest they both fall to their death. Roxy held onto him and they swung out suspended off to the side, isolating them. A fire started to rage below them as debris fell from above.

The HARPy leapt down from the tier above. It scaled the side of the wall and crab walked onto what remained of the walkway. It stood motionless, examining the linkage to the railing that kept its prey suspended. Its eyes glazed:

"_Datum:_ Roxanne Pellegrini. _Mission Parameters:_ capture and retrieval. _Datum:_ unknown G.I. Joe operative. _Mission Parameters:_ extirpation. _Error:_ conflicting mission parameters. _Conclusion:_ reassessment…. _Datum:_ Roxanne Pellegrini. _Mission Parameters:_ capture and retrieval. _Datum:_ unknown G.I. Joe operative. _Mission Parameters:_ extirpation. _Error:_ conflicting mission parameters. _Conclusion:_ reassessment…."

"What's it doing?" Roxy asked, once they were stable.

"It's stuck in a loop: it can't capture you without saving me, and it can't kill me without killing you."

"I would like to be gone _before_ it makes a decision!"

"I'm workin' on it." His eyes were drawn to movement behind the HARPy, and he smiled underneath his mask.

_CHAK-TOK_

Drawn out of its robotic reverie, the HARPy snapped its head in the direction of the distinctive sound too late.

BOOM!

The synthoid was knocked onto its back. Pieces of the goo that lined its body splattered against the wall. It climbed to its feet as Airtight stepped out of the smoke—leveling the shotgun perched at his shoulder.

_CHAK-TOK _BOOM! _CHAK-TOK _BOOM! _CHAK-TOK _BOOM!

The last volley of buckshot knocked the android over the side. Airtight retreated along the catwalk, but the fire underneath had already fatally weakened his section. Before it gave way, he was forced to jump clear, landing on a support beam that lined the side of the wall. He then shimmied along the beam to disappear back into the smoke.

The remaining support column started to teeter. Beach Head and Roxy were helpless to the whims of the railing that sought to find equilibrium.

Roxy never felt so helpless. Her life literally hung in the balance with time running out. "Omigodwe'regonnadie!"

"We're not going to die," Beach Head said in a calm voice.

"I don't do so good with heights!"

"Don't look down then."

"Looking up isn't helping either!"

"It's ok. It'll hold, I think. At least until Airtight can get back to us. Until then, we have to stay still."

"Please tell me you guys train for this sort of thing!"

"Actually we do. The exercise is called _Dead Man's Hang_. It requires the soldier to be able to remain suspended with fifty pounds of gear using only the hands. "

"But… I weigh more than fifty pounds!"

"Tell me about it."

Roxy tried to ignore the fact that his shoulder was bleeding from the stab wound that she gave him earlier. "Uhm... how long do you think you can keep this up?"

"I don't know. The good news is I hold the base record."

"What's the bad news?"

"I just broke it."

The railing started to buckle again, bouncing them a few times before settling. Her body shivered against his.

"Close your eyes."

"Why?!"

"This works better if you don't talk." When she closed her eyes he continued, "Can you hear my heartbeat?" He felt her nod against his chest. "Can you hear my breathing?" There was another nod. "I want you to breathe slowly, in and out, match my _rhythm._"

_Rhythm_: finally a concept that she could understand. There was something in the soldier's voice, a confidence, that compelled her to trust him. Roxy kept her attention focused on his slow and steady heartbeat—like the tick of a metronome. Her comfort was short of sanguine as the hot breeze at her feet was a stark reminder of their current predicament. Knowing that the man she clung to was the only thing keeping her from certain death, she instinctively dug her nails between the grooves of his vest and pressed tightly against him. Her legs clasped around his waist, fusing her hips against his. She thought it odd how he breathed from his belly rather than his chest; when he inhaled, it tickled her midriff to feel his energy. The rest of him, by contrast, felt like coiled steel.

—oOo—

Torch, Ripper, and Buzzer burst through the main entrance, howling in bloodlust.

Torch threw up his hands and basked in the heat of the inferno. "Burn, baby, burn!"

Zipper checked the ammo in his clip. "A blaze that size, the cops are gonna be here any minute. Where's that damn HARPy?"

As if on cue, the robot came out of the building and approached. Its clothes were reduced to blackened embers that hung in tatters off its body.

"Er, are you alright?" Buzzer said, giving it a sideways glance.

It patted out the last of the smoldering ashes on its person. "I am in need of repair."

Zipper scowled, seeing that it came back empty handed. "Where's that Misfit?"

"Retrieval was impossible," it answered expressionless.

The walkie-talkie on Buzzer's belt beeped. He unclipped it. "We're a little busy, Zandar."

"Then get _un-busy_. We need your help," Zandar said.

Buzzer cursed. "We're on our way." And he reattached the radio to his belt.

"What about the girl?" Torch asked.

He shrugged. "Screw 'er. She's done for if she's still in there."

Torch put the primer out on his flamethrower and strapped it to the back of his chopper. "There goes our bonus."

The Dreadnoks mounted up and drove off, leaving the building to burn.

—oOo—

Minutes passed that seemed like hours. The fire had mostly burned itself out, but the heat that was trapped inside was becoming intolerable. Roxy kept her ear to Beach Head's chest: his heart was beating so fast; his breathing had become erratic. He was losing his focus.

_I guess you're only a man after all…_

She rolled his mask up just high enough to expose his lips. His jaw was clenched and his mouth was quivering from the strain. She tentatively brushed her lips against his, probing for the point at which they parted. It was slippery with his sweat mixed with hers. She caressed them, and he started to return her kiss.

She broke it off when the shaking in his arms lessened. His breathing returned to its normal rhythm.

"Don't give up."

Roxy knew it was a short reprieve. The fingers on his hands were white from lack of circulation. The idea of falling to her death now should have her petrified; however, there was a surprising calm about her as she watched his grip loosen against the bar. It wouldn't be long now.

Then it happened: one of his hands slipped. She pushed off his waist and reached up to grab the bar. Her arms were already shaking, but she kept her legs wound tightly around him even as his remaining hand started to slip.

"Let me go!"

"NO!" She yelled and cried at the same time.

In the seconds before he lost his grip, Beach Head pried her open. She screamed his name when she felt him slip from between her legs. She didn't want to be alone. Panic started to set in as the reality of her situation became horrifying apparent. The adrenaline from that fear was the only thing that allowed her to hold on for as long as she did. But gravity would not be denied. She gritted her teeth as her fingers deinterlaced from around the bar. She was falling. She took in one last deep breath in order to afford herself the luxury of at least being able to scream on the way down.

Her release was interrupted when an arm clasped around her waist, jerking her to a stop, and almost knocking the wind out of her had she not already had a lungful of air.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that you need a lift."

She immediately recognized Airtight's voice and looked down at her feet. A plume of blue fire kept them suspended in the air and lowered them to safety. On the way down, they met Sci-Fi, who was carrying Beach Head.

Sci-Fi grinned. "Hey, Airtight, wanna trade?"

Airtight shook his head. "I'm good."

"Oh, well, it looks like you're stuck with me, Beach."

"As long as none of you choad-monkeys makes a crack about _hangin' around_, lest you find yourself scrubbin' toilets for the next two months," Beach Head interjected weakly.

The rest of the trip down was quiet, save for the roar of the jet packs.


	8. Belly of the Beast

**Dreadnok headquarters**

_Where am I? _

Jetta opened her eyes to darkness. The van they were held captive in was no longer moving, but it was impossible to determine where they had stopped. She tried to sit up but found that having her hands tied behind her back with her feet shackled provided insufficient leverage. The best she could manage was to lift her head slightly, looking back over her shoulder to the locked double doors. The dim light shining through one of the windows allowed her to see that Pizzazz and Stormer were huddled next to her still unconscious. Their arms and legs were likewise bound. She started to nudge Pizzazz with her shoulder when she heard voices outside. She lay still to give the appearance that she was still asleep.

The doors swung open. A large hooded figure peered inside. She tried to get a look at his face, but his features were hidden in shadow. She almost gasped when his chest started to glow with a bright blue light.

"So, Zandar, these are the famous Misfits?"

"I trust their condition meets with your approval, Zartan?"

"My _approval_ would've been secured had Pelligrini been among them, brother. Her absence presents a problem. What happened?"

"_G.I. Joe_ happened."

"Their appearance should not have been totally unexpected."

"No. It was their timing. I was under the impression that we had a two day lead, considering the way the Pentagon drags their feet."

"Dealing with the unexpected is part of being a leader. What's your operational status?"

"One of the HARPys was severely damaged, but it's still viable. We are proceeding on schedule."

"This is acceptable. Make the call to Gabor before the Joes get to him. I'll leave the details to you."

"Consider it done, Zartan."

"In the meantime, I'll check in with my asset at the Pentagon and see if I can find out exactly what the Joes know."

So, when are you putting the next phase of this little treasure hunt into operation?"

"Zarana is already in play. I will be in contact with more details shortly… Oh, and Zandar… no more screw-ups."

The doors closed. The strange conversation left Jetta with more questions than answers. Again she tried to wake Pizzazz and Stormer. They stirred weakly when she heard voices again. The doors swung wide, and bright lights shone in their faces.

"Wakey! Wakey!"

Jetta recognized Buzzer's voice along with two other Dreadnoks. A pair of hands dragged her out of the van. She looked down at the floor away from the bright flashlight pointed at her face while Monkey Wrench untied her restraints. For the first time, she noticed that the couture dress she wore was gone. Not only hers, but Stormer's and Pizzazz's was missing also, made evident by the fact that they were in their underwear—except in the case of Pizzazz, who opted not to wear any at all. Ribbed by the jeers and gropes of their captors, the Misfits were lead to a dark, musty basement. Jetta couldn't see at first; she heard the rattling of keys and rusty hinges and was pushed inside of a small cell. She fell onto a mattress and the door locked behind her. A dress and a pair of slippers was left with her. She saw that Stormer and Pizzazz were provided with similar clothing in their adjacent cells.

Zandar ordered the Dreadnoks to leave. "Get dressed." He stood patiently in front of Jetta's cell. Jetta regarded her orange-haired jailer with apprehension, but she obeyed. "Are you comfortable?" Zandar asked of her.

She didn't know why, but Jetta found herself nodding at him nervously. He said nothing further and pointed a device at her. He pressed a button, and she instinctively yelped at the flash of the camera, still traumatized by the effects of the scanner she suffered earlier. He grabbed the picture that ejected from the device and put it in his pocket.

Zandar did the same to Stormer, but he hesitated with Pizzazz. "You are Phyllis Gabor, correct?"

"Yea. What do you want?"

Without replying, he snapped a picture of her and walked away.

"What have you done with Roxy?" He ignored her. "Listen. I have money. My father—"

The thick steel door closed at Zandar's egress; there was no point in Pizzazz finishing her plea. Soon afterward, it opened again. This time, Buzzer walked in carrying three trays of food. He slid one under each of their bars. He was more talkative than Zandar.

"Wanna know what happened to the albino, do you? We ran a train on her. And, after we each had our fill, we left her body to burn in the warehouse. Same thing'll happened to you if you give us any trouble." He leered at the three of them and left.

It was quiet for several minutes. Stormer could stand the silence no longer. "He's lying about Roxy."

"Then why isn't she here?" Pizzazz said.

"She must have gotten away. Roxy's a fighter. She got away and she's going to get help. Tell her, Jetta."

Jetta sat on her mattress and picked at the tray of food on her lap. "Yea, sure, mate."


End file.
